


nicotine

by jongdaeslut



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Unrequited Love, kinda.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 23:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20161627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jongdaeslut/pseuds/jongdaeslut
Summary: nothing ever changes between them, not really.(originally submitted for chenpionships 2015, slightly revised.)





	nicotine

**Author's Note:**

> original copy of the fic can be found [here](https://chenpionships.livejournal.com/44972.html). it's probably a little worse and equally dramatic but whatever
> 
> i've been meaning to go back and fix this up for a while but i was cringing and then i was like should i have done the ending differently? but ultimately i got over myself/decided i made the right decision (but now i know the reasons for it) and finally, FINALLY, edited this goddamn fic.

zitao anticipates the sound of jongdae’s high, piercing laugh even before it cuts through the heavy smoke filling the bar. cigarette smoke has long become a fixture of the air he breathes, and while his lungs being filled with the stuff with every breath he takes is nothing short of unpleasant, it’s worth it for all the faces reflected in the drinks he serves and all the stories he hears; soft mumblings between patrons that mount into a roaring wave of sound that often have zitao apologetically asking customers could you please repeat your order a second time? i couldn’t hear you the first.

but even through all the murky noise, zitao somehow can’t miss the sound of jongdae’s laughter - it rings through the bar like harsh bells, somehow as clear to him as if it were breaking through the silence in an abandoned street in the dead of night.

from time to time zitao wonders why it is he always hears it - if it’s because the tone of it is just that striking, or if it’s because he meticulously inputs all of the concert dates of the source of it into his phone, eyes and ears always on the lookout for the days the jongdae will be passing through town on his tour. sometimes he tries to tell himself that a laugh like such a big sound can’t be ignored, but he knows it’s just so he doesn’t have to think about the truth he knows deep down - that he’s always waiting for the day jongdae and his friends will walk through the door, ready and willing to resume their status as regulars at the only bar that won’t kick them out when they gets too drunk, too boisterous and rowdy (well, not when zitao is at the helm, at least). he figures the jongdae’s laugh - his _voice_ \- is just as much a patron as the man himself is. it takes up just as much space, after all.

there’s a small part inside of him screaming to let yifan take the man’s order, but the larger part of him wins the fight, especially when a tap on his shoulder forces him to acknowledge the one and only kim jongdae.

“hey,” jongdae says, lips curved upwards in a sly grin. it’s his quintessential expression - after all these years, zitao’s incredibly familiar with it. they’ve been playing this game for a long time now.

(there are days where zitao feels like he knows his smile better than he knows jongdae himself).

“hi,” zitao replies, pulling the corners of his lips into a smile to match as best he can. he thinks it’s probably a far cry from the confidence jongdae displays, but it does the job.

jongdae drops himself down onto a barstool, spinning to face zitao and resting his elbows on the counter. “aren’t you going to ask me what i’d like to drink?”

“no,” zitao tells him, already moving a pint glass beneath the faucet of the beer jongdae always orders. “why would i?”

a peal of laughter. zitao’s sure yifan must have heard it even from the other end of the bar, but his coworker shows no sign of having heard. “you never need to,” jongdae says, eyes crinkling in a smile. “nice to see nothing’s changed.”

“oh, no, actually, everything’s changed,” zitao says, sliding jongdae his drink. “you just missed it all while you were on tour and now everything’s back to exactly the way you left it. well, most everything, anyway”

“of course it is,” jongdae says, eyes twinkling mischievously. “silly of me to expect anything else, huh?”

zitao feels like he could explode at any second.

instead, he laughs. “a sleepy little town like this, and you expected things to change? silly of you, indeed.”

jongdae smiles and sips at his drink, so zitao takes a moment to serve a pair of women their margaritas, cursing the cycle he’s allowed himself to be trapped in in.

it starts with jongdae, of course. it always does.

jongdae comes into the bar, the rest of the band in tow. tall, elfin chanyeol, the drummer, searches for a table, but their bassist kyungsoo is always the first to find one, expression borderline frosty as he points it out to his bandmates. their guitarist, baekhyun (god bless his soul), always chats away at a cute boy at a nearby table, and is traditionally the last to realize that the guy he’s flirting with is there with his girlfriend. cue the sulky walk of shame back to their table, where baekhyun will plop himself next to kyungsoo and across from chanyeol and bemoan his luck.

for a little while, jongdae sits next to chanyeol on the inside of the booth, chatting and cackling with his bandmates in a voice that reaches zitao’s ears even from across the room, but it’s never a half an hour in before jongdae kicks chanyeol out of the booth so he can get up and go to the bar.

cue part two of the cycle: jongdae makes small talk with zitao, _always_ with zitao. it doesn’t matter who else is on duty that night - it’s invariable. at one point zitao thought it was just the bastard child of timing and coincidence, but he’s long since realized that it’s far from an accident. jongdae does nothing without something to gain.

zitao always gets jongdae the same beer, because jongdae’s order never changes, even if what’s on tap does. he then goes back to minding the other patrons until jongdae has only a few sips left in his glass, because that’s when he opens his mouth and asks that fateful question.

“what time does your shift end?”

zitao turns around, glass of whiskey for a cranky, elderly regular in hand. “two,” he answers, heart just barely secured by his ribcage.

jongdae smiles over the rim of his glass. “duly noted,” he says, then finishes his drink and sets the glass down on the bar. the ice cubes clink against each other, a complementary companion to the dull clack of glass against wood. “i’ll see you later, then.”

“okay,” says zitao.

“great,” jongdae says with a grin, overtips as always by slipping a ten into his hand, then turns around and makes to return to his friends across the room.

zitao knows exactly what will happen when he gets off from work tonight, but there are butterflies in his stomach anyway, just like there always are. because come two o’clock in the morning, jongdae will slide back into his seat at the bar with a smirk playing across his lips and an invitation on his tongue.

it’s times like this when zitao feels terribly, horribly small. zitao is much taller than jongdae, but jongdae is like a wave, carrying zitao along in his path until he crashes against the shore and zitao is left crushed by the force of him until he recedes and zitao can finally breathe the air back into his lungs.

zitao checks his watch. 12:53. just an hour and seven minutes of the weight of anticipation hanging heavy in his chest.

(and then regret, and then longing all over again).

he bides his time by serving patrons and chatting with them as much as they allow, but all good things must come to an end, and soon enough they start filtering out of the establishment. some of them go alone, some of them in groups, some with someone new, and some with someone they already knew.

the taste of jealousy swirls on his tongue like bile. zitao tries to ignore it.

at 1:30, jongdae’s bandmates get up to go home, leaving jongdae to sip at his last beer and watch zitao close from across the room. at 1:55, he finishes his drink and rises from his seat and at 1:56, he drops into a stool at the bar and zitao finds himself face-to-face with the man himself.

“hey,” jongdae says.

“hi,” zitao replies. he finds it kind of funny that even their conversations are cyclical. he decides it’d be weird to mention it, so he doesn’t. 

“ready to get going?” jongdae asks, finger drawing circles on the back of zitao’s hand.

“my shift’s not over yet,” zitao reminds him. “it’s still not two.”

jongdae slumps against the counter and does what he does best - he whines, and it would have been annoying if zitao wasn’t already so utterly enamored by the man. “it’s not even five minutes, zitao - don’t make me wait like this!”

“i’ve waited all night,” zitao says, without really meaning to. jongdae raises an eyebrow. zitao changes the subject. “it’s just four minutes. three, now. you can do it.”

“alright,” jongdae says. he’s acceptant but zitao can tell he’s wary, too. it makes sense for him to be, though - zitao’s tongue slipped and a truth fell with it.

zitao finishes polishing the glass he’s holding and reaches for another.

at 1:59, jongdae is tapping his foot impatiently against the floor and playing with his fingers. zitao glances at him, and their eyes meet.

“fuck it,” zitao says, dropping the rag he’d been using on the counter. “yifan, i’m going.”

he’s met with an eager smile from jongdae and a nod from yifan.

“i know,” yifan says.

jongdae tugs at his arm. “let’s go,” he says, so zitao goes, following behind jongdae to the same place they always seem to end up. zitao unlocks the door to the custodial closet and allows jongdae to pull him inside, careful to shut the door behind him. he flicks the light on.

“so. here we are again,” zitao somehow manages. his throat feels swollen with nerves.

“here we are,” jongdae says. he steps forward and suddenly his beautiful mouth is well within reach of zitao’s own and zitao can’t help but to lean down and kiss it because jongdae is a drug and zitao is nothing if not hopelessly addicted. and kissing him? well, it’s all he’s ever wanted and everything he shouldn’t have and it’s not long before he opens his mouth to give jongdae the lead so he can have more more _more_ and jongdae _takes_ licking into zitao’s mouth and pushing him up against the heavy metal door, arms wrapping around zitao’s neck.

“thank god nothing ever changes in this shithole of a town,” jongdae groans, tangling thick fingers in zitao’s thick, bleach-blonde hair. “thank _fuck_.”

but things _do_ change, zitao wants to say. the gas station across from the supermarket has closed, and there’s a new bakery opening up in its place. musicians perform here now on tuesdays and thursdays, maybe you could sing for everyone sometime. for old time’s sake. and i had a boyfriend, really, i did. his name was junmyeon and he was handsome and sweet but forever busy, always bustling with work and in the end he left me but it wasn’t because of his job. he said i was always thinking of somebody else when i was with him. that i didn’t love him like he loved me. he was right, you know. i didn’t think he was, but seeing you again has made me realize that it was me who was wrong, not him. because we were never together, not really, but i’m still not sure i’ll ever get over you.

instead, zitao does what jongdae’s really waiting for and drops to the floor, one knee first and then the other, long fingers reaching to unzip jongdae’s distressed jeans and tug them down until his cock is exposed. he’s only half-hard but zitao takes him into his mouth anyway, plush lips wrapped around the head of jongdae’s cock and then pulling away to lick the precum off of the tip. it’s messy, and a good portion of it makes its way onto zitao’s top lip, so he swipes it away with precision, tongue dragging against his skin. jongdae shudders before him, breath a flawless hybrid of a gasp and a moan.

“that’s fucking hot,” he says, voice heavy with arousal. “that’s - _shit_, zitao, i forgot how _sexy_ you could be.”

“you were gone for too long,” zitao tells him, then drags his tongue along the underside of jongdae’s cock just to drive him insane.

it doesn’t fail (it never does), and suddenly jongdae is weak in the knees. “_christ_, taozi,” he groans, “hurry up and just _blow_ me already!”

zitao hurries to obey because no matter which game they play, jongdae is always the one with a winning hand, because jongdae is the one who picks the when, the what, the where, the how. the deck is stacked against zitao, and what’s worse is that it’s exactly how zitao likes it. zitao knows jongdae won’t ever enforce a word he says, oh no - he’ll let zitao do just as he pleases, but zitao always finds himself doing exactly as he’s told. he tells himself he figures jongdae will realize how hard zitao has fallen for him if he hangs on to his every word.

zitao thinks he’s probably dreaming, instead.

maybe this is a dream, too - the weight of jongdae’s dick hot and perfect in his mouth, the rising volume of jongdae’s moans as zitao takes him further and further in, wetting his cock with spit from the base to the tip.

he probably makes it a little bit harder on himself than he needs to. jongdae isn’t what many people would consider large, per say - he’s not long, but he’s thick, and zitao always makes sure to take him in as deep as he can, just barely touching the back of his throat.

it’s exactly how zitao likes it, though, and he knows it’s how jongdae likes it too by the way jongdae’s fingers are tightening in his hair, the way jongdae is making those pretty, hiccupy moans. the way jongdae is fucking deeper into his mouth with every thrust. the way jongdae’s cum spreads over his tongue.

it doesn’t taste good. zitao swallows it anyway.

jongdae tucks his dick back into his boxers and tugs his pants back up to his waist. “thanks,” he says, re-buttoning his pants.

it hits zitao then that jongdae’s going to leave. it must be panic that sets in, because that’s the only thing zitao can think of to explain what happens next.

“i love you,” zitao blurts out. he’s still kneeling on the grimy, dusty ground of the closet. it’s by no means the ideal place for a confession, and he feels the heavy swell of regret in the pit of his stomach. it’s not the location, though, but moreso the words he’s uttered that trouble him - but there’s no turning back now that they’re out of his mouth, and so he takes a leap of faith, asking “do you love me back?”

zitao sees jongdae hesitate, lips rounded in a silent ‘oh’ of surprise, and can do little but watch as jongdae works his way through his shock to the truth.

(he wonders if it had ever even occurred to jongdae that the sex was so much _more_ for zitao than it was for him. he thinks it probably hasn’t).

“no,” says jongdae, “i don’t.”

and the wave that is kim jongdae crashes into the shore, washing up zitao’s battered heart in the process.

it was only to be expected, zitao thinks. honestly, what else were you expecting him to say?

“i know,” zitao says, because he did. “i always knew.” he tries to mask the disappointment in his voice. he thinks it’s working, but suddenly jongdae is crouching down on the floor across from him, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes locked intently on zitao’s face.

his expression is intense, and zitao wilts beneath it, breaking eye contact to stare at a dust bunny stuck on the bristles of a broom. it’s a terrible fate, zitao thinks. he can empathize. “you’re going to get your pants dirty,” he mutters.

jongdae ignores him. “i think i can learn,” he tells zitao. “to love you, i mean.”

zitao lifts his gaze to meet jongdae’s eyes. “you can’t mean that. it doesn’t work that way.”

“i do,” jongdae says firmly. he stands up, reaching out a hand for zitao to take. “and it can. come on, i’ll take you home. you still take the bus to work, right?”

zitao had purchased a car months ago, but he allows jongdae to take his hand and help him up from the floor anyway. shutting the closet door behind _them_ instead of just _him_ feels unreal - almost as if he’d misplaced his feet in a dream when he meant to keep them in reality. but jongdae is looking up at him with an affection zitao never thought he’d see on his face, and he decides he’s glad he’d allowed himself to fantasize about this moment.

they walk out of the building in silence. jongdae locks their fingers together, and zitao the door behind them. he takes a breath of the cool night air and it dawns on him that his cycle of loving and longing has finally, _finally_ been broken.

maybe things really can change for them, after all.

(later, zitao wakes up to find jongdae buried in his chest, fast asleep. it’s a sight he’d only dreamt he’d see, and zitao runs his fingers through the jongdae’s hair, reflecting on just how small the other man really is compared to him.

he decides he likes it this way, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> i somehow added about 400w to this fic fuck ME lmao


End file.
